No Treat for the Tart
by hidden-in-a-tree
Summary: Shouldn’t Halloween just be for the kids? If so, then why would some grown up tart expect to get a goodie? Specifically an already taken goodie. Oneshot. Comedy. Nick/Greg. Nick’s POV. Slash.


**Author's Note:** This is my fanfic contribution for the Halloween season. Right on Halloween. Imagine that, eh? Anyways—I don't really want to call this a "comedy" type story, because what if people don't find it funny? Alas—I'll just call it that for convenience's sake. And my last point is that this was the most fun I've ever had writing a fan fiction. xD

Oneshot. Comedy. Nick/Greg. Nick's POV. Slash.

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the characters mentioned, except for a few.

**Acknowledgements: **Thanks, as always, goes to Amanda for reading this over for me.

**Summary: **Shouldn't Halloween just be for the kids? If so, then why would some grown up tart expect to get a goodie at someone else's house? Specifically an already taken goodie.

**No Treat for the Tart**

Nick sat with his feet up on the black wooden coffee table, the phone in his hand and his eyes on the TV screen. _I Know What You Did Last Summer_ was playing, and it was just getting to the climax, but of course, he was also straining his mind to pay attention to what Warrick was saying in his ear.

"Nicky, you even listening to me?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Uh, what did you say?" Nick asked, feeling a bit of color rise to his cheeks. He reached forward to turn off the TV, letting the living room fall into blackness, except for the orange pumpkin lights strung up along the walls. Reflecting the eerie glow, cardboard cutouts of skeletons and mummies watched him from the shadows. With the TV off, he could hear his Scary Sounds for Halloween CD playing in the large stereo on the other side of the bookcase. Even the shelves, heavily laden with books, were strung up with fake cobwebs and rubber spiders.

"I still don't know how you and Sanders got Halloween off," Warrick grumbled, and Nick knew his best friend was probably rubbing his forehead in exhaustion. Warrick had been pulling a lot of doubles lately.

"Yeah, we're lucky all right," Nick said, wondering how both the CSI's had gotten the night off. He honestly had no clue—Grissom had told him a few days ago that he got the thirty first of October off. No explanation, and then later that day Nick had found out that Greg had also gotten the night off. Coincidence?

"Are you two going to be hanging out or—" Warrick was saying, but he was interrupted when Nick let out a shout of laughter.

Standing in the hallway was a hideously old and frumpy woman. Her silver gray hair was done up in lurid pink curlers, yet many pieces of hair were coming unattached to the curlers and were hanging limply around her face. She had obviously not finished her facial, because her skin was a bright green, yet you could still see the deep crevasses made by wrinkles under the cream. Over her eyes, she was wearing leopard skin plastic framed glasses with no glass. That wasn't even the worst of it.

Her clothing consisted of a blue aerobics outfit with neon green tights and over that, she was wearing a silky white and black polka dot blouse with the shoulders padded. In her hand (which had finger nails that looked like blood red talons) she was clutching a bulky black purse that had Hello Kitty on it.

"What?" Warrick asked, but Nick only howled louder with laughter. The old woman was coming over, her purse raised as if to strike him.

"Now talk to the nice young man on the phone, Nicky," she ordered, her voice high and squeaky. It sounded like a chipmunk on helium, if the chipmunk had a hole in its throat due to smoking.

"Nick, what's going on? Who else is there?" Warrick yelled. After a few moments, Nick could talk again.

"That's my uh, elderly neighbor. She's going to be spending the night with me," Nick choked out, but then he realized what he'd said. "NO! Not like that!" But it was too late. Now Warrick was laughing.

"So the ladies' man couldn't find a date for Halloween, huh?" Warrick inquired playfully after a few minutes of tears streaming down his cheeks. "You're scraping the bottom of the barrel, man."

"Yeah, well …" Nick trailed off, his eyes following the old woman as she opened a bag of Hershey candies and poured them into a bowl shaped like a jack-o-lantern. It was then that he noticed that, on the back of her blouse, she had a picture of Bill Nye the Science Guy.

"Well, I'm going, Nick. Have fun with your neighbor," Warrick hollered, hanging up as Nick's full-throated laughter reverberated in his ears.

It was a while before the Texan realized that his best friend had hung up.

"You know, Greg, you could've waited till after I was off the phone before you came out," Nick told the younger man, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Greg didn't answer as he picked up the bowl and put it on the table in the entranceway. He turned on the porch light and peeked out the window.

"I don't see anyone yet," he called back to Nick. He stayed for another moment, looking out at the darkened street before coming to sit beside Nick on the couch.

"They'll get here eventually," Nick told him, moving a piece of silvery wig-hair away from Greg's face.

"I guess," the younger man said. He turned to look at the Texan. "Maybe it's 'cause you didn't dress up."

"Maybe no one's coming because I didn't dress up?"

"Yeah. I mean—what's the fun in Halloween if you don't go crazy and dress up?" Greg exclaimed, jumping up and whirling around. His blouse flew up his chest, revealing a pink bra on the outside of his aerobics outfit.

"Greg, I wouldn't do that if I were you," Nick replied, trying hard not to chuckle. "Usually old grannies don't flash people."

Greg stopped twirling around the living room and shrugged. "Usually old grannies don't dress like this."

Nick couldn't help it—he laughed. He figured he'd be doing that a lot tonight. With a contented sigh, Greg flounced onto the couch beside him, flicking on the TV. After about half an hour, the doorbell rang.

"I'LL GET IT!" Greg cried, leaping up from the couch and racing to the front door. Nick hadn't even had a chance to move.

The younger man hurriedly wrenched open the white front door, sending the plastic skeleton taped to the back flying. Two little pirates stood in front of him.

"Trick or treat," they both cried, raising their pillowcases. Greg sized them up.

"Two pirates, eh," he said in his old woman voice. He picked up the bowl and dropped some Aero bars into their pillowcases. "Not really original after the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ movies."

"Neither is the whole 'I'm a grandma who escaped from the mental asylum only to land in a circus' look, lady," the taller pirate said before turning on his heel, running down the step and cackling like a witch.

"Gosh," Greg said a moment later, sitting back down beside Nick, "they really got my costume, didn't they?"

The Texan noticed the subtle sarcasm and asked, "So what is your costume supposed to be, then?"

Greg didn't answer.

"I will admit," Nick said when the doorbell rang once again and Greg jumped to his feet, "those are some nice legs for an old woman."

More trick or treaters came and went, and sometimes Nick answered the door and sometimes Greg did. Sometimes the men made the kids sing songs or tell jokes. A whole parade of costumes came and went: astronauts, garbage men, ghosts, mummies, vampires, and even a few girls who came dressed as they were.

"What are you supposed to be?" Nick asked, throwing some Smarties into their pillowcases.

The girls giggled, and one answered, "Fangirls."

"Fangirls of what?"

"Well, there's this awesome forensic science show with these two really hot gay guys, and—" one of the girls was answering when she was shoved out of the way by a little kid in a Styrofoam beer keg costume.

"Trick or treat," the boy demanded, shoving his alarmingly large pillowcase into Nick's face.

"What an uh, interesting costume," Nick said, picking up some Sour Patch Kids candies. He held them above the kid's already overflowing candy bag but didn't drop them. "You want to sing a song for me?"

"Shut up and give me my candy."

Nick's hand tightened around the treats, and he heard Greg softly start to come toward the front door.

"Excuse me?" the Texan said, glaring down at the pint-sized monster in the beer costume.

"I said, shut up and give me my candy—"

"Roach, be quiet!" a woman screamed, racing up the stairs to the front door. Nick felt his eyes go wide as he saw what the woman was wearing … or should he say 'what she wasn't wearing'?

She was dressed in a red strapless halter-top that barely covered anything. For her bottoms, she had the shortest mini skirt Nick had ever seen, and she was wearing extremely high black heel shoes. Her hair was done in Dolly Parton curls, the blonde almost blinding to the eye. Her face was also radically pale, the lips a frightening shade of magenta. Her eye shadow was a violent shade of green.

Nick dropped the candy into the kid's bag, his muscles going lax as his eyes widened even further.

"I'm sorry if my kid was being a brat or anythin'," the woman said, her voice going silky and smooth. She turned to her son. "You go trick or treatin' with your dumb daddy, you hear me? He's waitin' for you over there." She gestured vaguely over her shoulder, her attention already focused back on Nick.

The kid took off down the stairs, and his mother didn't even notice.

"It's uh, no big deal," Nick told her, ashamed that he was stuttering.

The woman smiled at him almost as if she was a predator and he was the prey. She had lipstick smudges on her teeth. "So what's a guy like you doin' alone on this kind of night?"

"I'm, uh—"

Three kids came up the stairs, and they had only shouted one word of the traditional Halloween greeting when the woman turned around sharply and yelled at them to go away. The kids scattered.

Nick felt his mouth drop open.

The woman patted her outrageous curls and winked at him, some of her goopy mascara hitting him on the cheek. "So are you seein' anyone, hot stuff?"

"Uh, actually—"

"He's seeing me," came Greg's squeaky, yet raspy reply as he shuffled out in front of Nick. Now it was the woman's turn for her mouth to drop open in amazement.

"He's seeing you," she stated flatly, her eyes traveling all over Greg's outfit.

"That's right," Greg said proudly, still in that false voice. He gave her the once over. "What are you supposed to be dressed as—a stripper?"

The woman actually smiled and winked at Nick again. "You know, you could ditch the broad—" she threw a dirty look at Greg "—and we could go out to a bar or a dance club, if you want …"

Greg drew himself up to his full height, puffing out his chest. He didn't realize that the strap of his bra had slipped slightly, and now his fake breasts were lop-sided. "Honey," he said loudly, his voice scratchy, "you only wish you could look half as good as me."

The stripper-esque woman rolled her eyes. "Grandma, I wouldn't even wonna look like half your age, 'cause I'm probably three times younger than you. I also sag a helluva lot less." She stared pointedly at Greg's chest, but he still didn't notice that the right cup of his bra was where it was supposed to be, and the other one was drooping down almost to his last rib.

Subconsciously, Nick had stepped out from behind Greg and had softly treaded over to the candy bowl, grabbing himself a Reese Cup. It was getting hard to eat, though, because he didn't want to choke on the chocolate while trying to stifle his laughter.

Greg hobbled forward a few steps (Nick was amazed that he was still acting in character) and said, his voice low but still feminine, "That may be so, but I can still go at it three times longer than you can, if you get my drift …"

The sneer disappeared off the woman's face, her lips parted in a look of complete shock. Nick almost dropped the box of Smarties he was holding.

"Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about?" the woman asked, finding her voice. An older group of trick or treaters had converged around them, listening intently. A few of them had even let go of their pillowcases, the treasure within spilling onto the front steps.

"If you're anything like your father, then I should know. Don't they say 'like father like daughter' or something like that?" Greg asked silkily, a wicked grin cracking the green facial mask on his skin.

"Ooooooooooooooooo!" the group of kids exclaimed, laughing loudly. The woman turned on her heel and stomped off, her short skirt bouncing with every step. Catcalls followed her, but soon everyone had left after getting their candy.

Greg shut the door, leaving them both standing in the glow of the pumpkin lights.

"That was … pretty disgusting, G," Nick told the younger man, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. Disgusting, sure, but maybe justifiable?

Greg snorted derisively. "Disgusting words for a disgusting woman." He turned off the porch light and locked the door, putting the bowl of candy onto the kitchen counter. Eventually he went to sit down on the couch. Nick was still left standing by the front door.

"What?" the younger man finally growled, casting an annoyed look at Nick.

"So what was up with that?"

"What was up with what?"

"You. Everything. But mainly just you."

Greg rolled his dark eyes, focusing once more on the TV. Nick came to sit down beside him, ignoring the TV and focusing on the younger man.

"_What?_"

"Come on, Greg, no need to be so vexed," Nick told him, a grin spreading across his face. "Besides, I thought you always told me you didn't need to be overprotective?"

"Why would I even be a bit overprotective of you?"

Nick leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. " 'Cause all the women want me."

Greg laughed loudly. " 'All the women'?" All I saw was one tart who wanted to get in your pants."

Nick's smile grew. "Well, I see an old grandma who probably wants the same thing."

Greg raised his purse almost threateningly. "I happen to be a very manly man, thank you very much."

"What's the difference—OW!"


End file.
